


Just you, like this

by madhatt



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Prowl, Asexuality, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madhatt/pseuds/madhatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Constructicons first show him their particular brand of affection, Prowl is at a loss. Accepting the fact someone might actually be willing to like him for what he is, it is not something Prowl knows how to do. He doesn't know what to say, how to react, how to accept the affection these strange mechs, these Decepticons  have for him, for some odd reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just you, like this

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “You’re probably wondering why I’m walking like this…”

Prowl isn't used to mechs openly caring for him. His personal life, unlike his professional one (at least up until recently) has always been marked with failures. Is he hoping for the mech to be his friend, or considers him his potential romantic interest, in the end it all results in bitter disappointment on both sides and, in Prowl's case, well concealed, but sill hurting spark. He knows he isn't the easiest to be around – he is well aware of his cold exterior and unapproachable character – but still, after all these vorns, it still pains him to know that there is not one mech interested enough to stick around for more than a click.

The progressive estrangement from his fellow Autobots following the end of war only strengthened the resentment he feels. He is now alone not only in private situations but also at work, the only place he used to feel safe in. Prowl knows it's on him, too, this state of things. He used to understand others better, used to have more delusions about the world around him. But he's smarter now. He is smarter and most people don't appreciate that.

Not even Optimus Prime.

It pains Prowl more than he is willing to admit, even to himself.

That's why, when Constructicons first show him their particular brand of affection, Prowl is at a loss. Accepting the fact someone might actually be willing to _like him_ for what he is, it is not something Prowl knows how to do. He doesn't know what to say, how to react, how to _accept_ the affection these strange mechs, these _Decepticons_ have for him, for some odd reason.

Because he truly wants to fully embrace Constructicons' attentions. He can't afford to deny himself first signs of genuine fondness in ages. Now as he's experiencing it, he can't imagine going back to the dull coldness of being by himself. Not when having five frames thrumming with warmth brings so much uncontrollable pleasure.

Not that he's about to tell that to anybody.

He is however willing to admit to himself – this weird, at first forced, relationship between him and Constructicons is addicting. And he's not sure if he is able to ever let it go. Before, he wasn't even aware how much he missed the touch of another mech. Not until Scavenger nervously caressed the sensitive edges of his doorwings, Bonecrusher nuzzled his helm, or Hook massaged his fingers carefully. And he knows they mean it to be arousing. Or rather meant to. To cause his mechanisms to heat up and rev, his plating to tremble, and vocalizer to glitch from strain. But soon they realized, this is not what Prowl needs, not at all what the tactician feels whenever they are together. Sure it makes Prowl's processor halt and his optics stare with wonder at the former Decepticons. It causes his frame to get warmer and unconsciously wriggle closer to whoever is right now lying next to him.

But that's all he needs. And surprisingly, Constructicons accept it, just as they seem to accept everything about Prowl. “We want you so much,” Mixmaster whispers oftentimes. And Scavenger quickly adds, “Like this, simply like this. We don't need anything else, just you, like this.” Then he kisses him shyly on the lips. Prowl thanks him for that with shaky arms embracing his waist and holding him close. That is all he needs, too.

So he's not about to let them go, to deny himself their calming presence in the middle of the night cycle, no matter what he has to give up. If it is his ability to walk straight, then so be it.

It happened by accident. Those are bound to happen when six mechs try to share one berth, even one as big as they use. They got cozy, five huge Constructicons with one tired Prowl in the middle, and quickly went into recharge. How could they not? Prowl's engines actually purred with content, he was so comfortable, he felt so safe, that before he could finish the thought...

He isn't half as happy the next day, after powering up. He feels stiff and his plating rattles. It seems the last recharge cycle's configuration wasn't the most comfortable after all. It gets even worse when he tries to stand up – his doorwing must have taken a hit, for it is tense and trembling, and completely throwing him off his balance as he tries to walk.

As the day passes, he is visibly limping. Though he knows it is nothing serious, he only needs to wait for the numbness of the appendage to pass, it still irritates him that it takes so long. Especially since it's not the first time something like this happened.

It's a result of his spark's weakness. Of his surprising need for affection and it angers him, that because of it he's not able to function properly, that he's weak and disoriented. But even more he feels aggravated that he would have to deny himself the pleasure of sharing the bed with Constructicons, for it to never happen again.

By the end of the day Prowl is miserable and exasperated. He just wants to go back to his room, to his berth, to his Constructicons...

As it happens, Constructicons come to Prowl instead. They come to him, not long before the end of his shift, and hover nervously around his desk, waiting in silence for Prowl to give them a sign that they can speak. That much they have learnt at least, Prowl thinks with amusement. For a few clicks he leaves them to stand there, but finally he looks up.

“Prowl.” Long Haul is the one to start the conversation. “There is something we wanted to ask.”

“We are just curious,” says Mixmaster and Boncrusher finishes for him, “And a little worried.” It's Hook who finally gets to the point. Kind of. “Is something wrong?” Scavenger is the only one who hasn't spoken up yet. He is however intently staring at Prowl's peds, and that's how Prowl realizes what it is all about.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m walking like this…”

“You're limping. What happened?” asks Hook.

“Who did that? Who do we need to _talk_ to?” is what Bonecrusher wants to know.

“Is it your leg?” Scavenger finally squeaks out. Bonecrusher is fast to reply with, “Of course it's his leg!”

“It's not, actually,” says Prowl calmly and in a low voice, but it's all he needs to do to make Constructicons listen. “It's my doorwing.”

“Someone dared to touch your _doorwing_?” Long Haul sounds like he can't believe that and wants to hurt whoever did it. It's rather endearing.

How is he supposed to tell them, they are the reason for his current misery? He can't. He doesn't want to. Not when they look at him with affection and worry. When they look at him, as if he was the only thing they _see_.

And so he doesn't tell them. “It's nothing, I must have hit something, by accident,” he says instead. He sees that they want to protest, but he doesn't let them. “I'm almost finished here... Let's just go to berth, I'm tired.”

Five sets of happy, eager optics and visors look at him with hope. He almost lets a smile appear on his face. He knows the same happiness and eagerness blooms inside his spark.

 

 


End file.
